# I imagine he smells like faint cologne, the cheap kind you just randomly pick up, and just the barest tang of cigarettes — nearly unnoticeable unless you're in close proximity. Though if you catch him after bakery shifts, the smell of pastries and sweets surrounds him.
# The type of person that has cold hands no matter the weather. You have to brace for impact when he reaches out for you.
# The type to get flustered if he sees you in any item of his, doesn't matter which — band tees, shorts, rings or necklaces, what matters is that they belong to him and are now adorned on your body. Will deny it, though, so prepare.
// “You're blushing.” You state, voice carrying that teasing lilt that gets his cheeks heated.
“It's just hot” He retorts.
“Silas, It's winter.” //
# Would probably love snuggling close to you near a heater/radiator during the colder months, shoulders pressed with barely any space between you two.
// He brings his knees to his chest, eyes unfocused till your awkward shifts bring him back to reality?
“Warm?” He questions, to which you give a brief head shake.
“Almost…” You reply, rocking back and forth ever so gently before taking the liberty to move closer, the warmth of the heater now sinking your cold, cold body properly. //
# Branding sentimental items with proof of his existence in your life would make him go crazy – like etching his and your signatures into a skateboard or rollerblades or even your makeup. It's not a must, never that, but it's something that'll make his heart skip several beats.
# I don't see him as the type to have large outbursts in arguments, he's more quiet, though his voice and words are still entwined with expected annoyance and bluntness. Will most likely need a bit to cool off and will end up ghosting you (kill him).
Carrot's BS corner — I've had to rewrite this section 3 TIMES. I've lost all my progress to unsaved drafts 5 TIMES AND HAVE FAILED TO POST THIS DUMBASS FIC 5 TIMES. How do I kill an app?? I'M MAD AS HELLLLLLLLL. Anyways, Cain needs to die I'm so sorry. Cain fans you are in ENEMY TERRITORY. HE NEEDS TO GOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Playing around with layouts to see what I like rn hmmhmhmhmmmmm 🤤🤤 I love Zanka (he doesn't even go here)
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synopsis — a quiet night, one cigarette, and an impulsive decision neither of you knows how to recover from.
The investigation had ended hours ago, but neither of you seemed eager to go inside. The motel parking lot was quiet, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of crickets hidden somewhere beyond the trees. Silas stood beside the railing with a cigarette balanced between his fingers, its ember glowing faintly each time he took another drag.
You watched him for a while before breaking the silence. "You're smoking again." He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
"...Yeah."
"You know it's bad for you."
"I know."
"Then why?"
His gaze lingered on the cigarette for a moment before he answered, almost absentmindedly. "...Habit." You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head. "You're impossible."
For the first time that evening, you caught the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. It was subtle—gone almost as quickly as it appeared—but enough to make you smile. On impulse, you reached over and plucked the cigarette from between his fingers.
His brows knit together.
"...Hey."
"I'm just curious."
Before he could stop you, you copied the way he'd held it moments before and took a tentative inhale.
It was a mistake.
The smoke hit the back of your throat like fire. You doubled over immediately, coughing so hard your eyes watered. "God..." Another cough tore through your chest. "...How do people survive this?"
Silas was already beside you. Without a word, he took the cigarette from your hand.
"...You inhaled wrong."
"I don't think there's a right way."
"There is."
You tried to answer, only for another fit of coughing to interrupt you.He watched you quietly, his brows drawing together ever so slightly.
"...Breathe."
"I am breathing."
"No."
You looked up at him, confused.
"...Like this."
"...What?"
For a second, he looked almost uncertain, as though he'd realized how strange his next words were going to sound.
"...You'll keep coughing."
"So?"
His gaze drifted away.
"...Open your mouth."
You blinked.
"...Silas."
The tips of his ears turned the faintest shade of pink. "...Just trust me." You weren't entirely sure why you did. Maybe because it was him. Maybe because, despite everything, you'd never had a reason not to.
Silas took one last drag from the cigarette, holding the smoke in for a brief moment as though reconsidering the decision he'd already made. His hand rose slowly, fingertips brushing beneath your jaw with surprising gentleness, giving you every chance to pull away.
Then, before you had the chance to ask what he was doing, he leaned in until there was barely any space left between you. The kiss was fleeting. Barely more than shared breath. Warm smoke slipped past your lips as he exhaled, lingering only for a moment before the night air carried it away again. When he finally stepped back, you simply stared at him.
"...Better?"
You blinked once.
"...You kissed me."
Silas froze.
His eyes widened just enough for you to notice.
"...That wasn't..." He stopped himself, looking away with a quiet click of his tongue. "...That wasn't the point."
A smile slowly found its way onto your face.
Silas caught it immediately. "...You're smiling."
His brows knitted together in quiet disbelief, as though he couldn't understand why you looked so pleased.
You tilted your head innocently.
"So?"
"...Don't."
"Why?"
His gaze darted away before settling somewhere over your shoulder. "...Because you're making this worse."
Your smile only grew.
"You kissed me."
"...I know."
Silence settled comfortably between the two of you. Silas rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eyes. Under his breath, you caught a quiet "...Fuck." He flicked the cigarette butt onto the pavement and crushed it beneath his shoe. "...Forget it."
@crossaints — i hope you guys like this as much i do. i cannot stop smiling while i was writing this. you can call this is apology fic for the cain one (for now). hope you enjoy silas shotgun kiss!!!
synopsis — he told himself they were only observations. the way you smiled before you laughed. the books you reached for first. the little habits no one else seemed to notice.
The notebook was different. You noticed it the moment Cain reached into his satchel.
It wasn't the worn leather journal he always carried—the one filled with meticulous notes, copied passages, and observations written in his unmistakably neat hand. This one was smaller. Plain. Its corners had softened with use, the cloth cover faded from being handled far more often than it appeared.
For the briefest moment, it rested in his hand.
Then his brows drew together. "...My mistake."
Without another word, he slipped it back into his satchel and retrieved the familiar notebook instead.
You thought little of it.
Until later.
The library had grown quieter as the afternoon wore on. Dust drifted lazily through shafts of sunlight, settling over shelves lined with books that seemed far older than either of you. You and Cain had spent hours searching for answers, only to find contradictions buried beneath increasingly obscure texts.
Eventually, Cain let out a slow breath and closed the book before him. "I'll see if the archivist has another volume." You nodded absently, already reaching for the next book on the stack.
By the time his footsteps disappeared between the shelves, your attention wandered.
The smaller notebook sat beside the pile of books he'd left behind. It must have slipped out with the others.
You stared at it.
You shouldn't.
Curiosity had gotten people into far worse trouble than this.
...
Just one glance.
Your fingers brushed against the worn cover before you could talk yourself out of it.
The notebook opened somewhere near the middle. Immediately, you recognized his handwriting. Neat. Measured.
Dislikes bitter coffee. Will drink it anyway if it's the only option.
You blinked.
The next page.
Gets distracted by stray cats.
Pretends not to be tired.
Sleeps with one hand beneath the pillow.
A faint crease formed between your brows.
"...What?" You turned another page.
Avoids talking when something is truly bothering them.
Always says they're fine before admitting they're cold.
Smiles with their eyes before their mouth.
Your heart stumbled. These weren't casual observations. They were impossibly specific. As though someone had been quietly collecting every little thing that made you... you.
"...Looking for something?" The voice came from behind you.
You barely had time to turn before the notebook was pulled carefully—but firmly—from your hands. Cain's eyes immediately dropped to the page you had opened. For the briefest instant, something unreadable flickered across his face.
Not anger.
Panic.
Just as quickly, it disappeared behind the familiar composure he wore so effortlessly. He closed the notebook. "You shouldn't touch things that don't belong to you." His voice wasn't raised.
If anything, its calmness made the words sting more.
Heat crept into your face. "I wasn't trying to pry," you said, quieter than intended. "I was just..."
Curious.
The excuse died before it reached your lips.
Cain lowered his gaze to the notebook resting in his hands. "Curiosity does not excuse it." Each word was measured. Deliberate. As though he were reminding himself of the same rule.
Silence settled between you.
"...I'm sorry." The apology was barely above a whisper. His fingers tightened around the notebook. The words struck him harder than they should have.
When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge.
"...No."
A pause.
"I was unnecessarily harsh. Yet intent doesn't change the act." It wasn't quite an apology. But for Cain, it was as close as he knew how to come.
He slipped the notebook back into his satchel, fastening the buckle with more care than necessary before returning to his seat.
The conversation ended there.
Or perhaps it simply dissolved into the silence that had always existed so comfortably between the two of you.
You returned to your books. Cain opened his. Neither of you read a single word. Instead, his eyes lingered on the satchel resting by his chair.
On the notebook hidden safely inside. There were no clues within its pages. Nothing about the mystery the two of you had spent all afternoon trying to unravel. Only another mystery entirely.
The date you first laughed together. The color you reached for without thinking. The way your fingers lingered over bookstore shelves even after deciding not to buy anything. The habit of saying you weren't tired moments before rubbing at your eyes.
Tiny pieces of a person. Collected so quietly...
That somewhere between observation and affection, Cain had stopped taking notes.
He had begun memorizing you.
That evening, long after the library had closed and the walk home had left the city wrapped in dusk, Cain opened the notebook once more.
The page you had nearly finished reading was still slightly bent where your fingers had turned it.
He stared at it for a long while.
Then he uncapped his pen. Beneath the last unfinished observation, he wrote only two words.
Too much.
He closed the notebook immediately afterward. Whether he meant there were too many notes... Or that he had allowed himself to care too much...
Even Cain no longer knew.
He just can't admit to himself that maybe he's already falling in love with you.
@crossaints — i hope you guys enjoyed "by heart" — cain! this is the second fic i have written for him.
